


School of Fish: 2020 Edition

by C-chan (1001paperboxes)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: April Fools' Day, Crack, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:22:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23439133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1001paperboxes/pseuds/C-chan
Summary: A collection of ficlets written based on prompts given in the 2020 Les Mis Poisson d'Avril gift exchange, in which the challenge is to match the letter, but not the spirit, of the prompts given.
Relationships: Bahorel & Jean Prouvaire, Combeferre & Courfeyrac & Enjolras (Les Misérables), Combeferre & Joly (Les Misérables), Courfeyrac & Cosette Fauchelevent, Joly & Bossuet Laigle, Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta, Les Amis de l'ABC Friendship
Comments: 9
Kudos: 11
Collections: Les Misérables Poisson d'Avril





	1. Aaymeirah

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aaymeirah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaymeirah/gifts), [Carbon65](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carbon65/gifts), [everyonewasabird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/everyonewasabird/gifts), [ghostplantss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostplantss/gifts), [MuchAdoAboutAlmostEverything](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuchAdoAboutAlmostEverything/gifts), [oftangles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oftangles/gifts), [PilferingApples](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PilferingApples/gifts), [rhyol1te](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhyol1te/gifts), [estelraca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/estelraca/gifts), [C-chan (1001paperboxes)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1001paperboxes/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Madame Thénardier bakes meat pies, Éponine and Azelma and Gavroche are the taste testers. Monsieur Thénardier is delighted to have found such a cheap thing to produce and sell.
> 
> Oddly, I believed the best way to tackle this away from the spirit was to literally be as true to the prompt as possible. Please enjoy!

Honestly, the idea was both simple and brilliant. She was surprised it had taken her until that good-for-nothing husband of hers to be out of the equation to figure it out.

At the end of the night, she'd send one of her children—Azelma often, but Gavroche if he was looking particularly pathetic—off to town to visit the local bakeries and grocers, and buy or procure whatever pies hadn't sold that day. On some days, there wasn't much stock, and they'd be up for most of the night creating stew and crust, but usually there was more than enough ready-made to serve their purposes.

And in the morning, the true work would begin. Though to call it work was perhaps an overstatement: it simply was time to start the fire, and bake the first set of pies. Timing was crucial, but the interim often made for the best reading time—she'd gone through so many romance novels in her baking time.

The first slices would go to her children, who would give opinions on the taste. Éponine had the best business sense, and could often come up with very fair and competitive prices befitting of each flavour. Azelma had the best sense of smell, and could tell if anything was off or rancid before any customers could complain of the same. And Gavroche, well, Gavroche had good naming sensibilities, and came up with creative and fitting names for each pie, giving some novelty to their product.

And then, around noontime, the workers would come, willing to put down fair coin for a hot lunch.

It was a tidy profit for such little work: simply baking pies that she rarely even had to make herself. And perhaps it would never make her rich, but it would more than provide, so long as there were those wanting to get rid of their old stock at night.


	2. C-chan (1001paperboxes)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: In which we learn the truth about Bahorel and Werewolves.

The debate had been going on for hours.

That was a lie—the debate was years old at the very least, but tonight in particular the topic had caught fire. At present, Joly and Combeferre were the lead debaters, contemplating the plausibility of the affair altogether.

"But he _can't_ be a werewolf," Joly insisted. "You of all people should be well-equipped to understand how lycanthropy is meant to be a metaphor for a woman's menzes. The lunar hormonal cycles match up too well."

"I can agree on the literary merit," Combeferre conceded, "but fail to see how that negates the possibility for Bahorel to be a werewolf himself."

"Because it's not physically, or medically, possible, of course!"

"Who's to say it's not?" Combeferre countered. "There are many parts of medicine we've yet to understand; who's to say that lycanthropy is not yet one of them?"

The argument continued on, with each side citing references for hoaxes and cases of unresolved medical mysteries, along with an itemized list of Bahorel's tells and habits, until Jean Prouvaire found he had no recourse left but to interrupt.

"This is all well and good, but why not try a more direct method?"

And with that, he stood, walked over to the table where Bahorel was playing dominoes and feigning ignorance to the argument about him on the other side of the room, and tapped his shoulder.

"Bahorel, our friends are arguing again as to your true nature. So, would you care to elaborate on whether or not you're a werewolf?"

The man in question grinned, and placed his cards face-down on the table as he turned towards his friend.

"Jehan," he said, "the answer is simple. Borel is a werewolf. I am a literary character based on him, and a complete work of fiction."

Jean Prouvaire nodded gravely. "An understandable answer indeed."

And thus, armed with the truth, he went back to inform his friends and end the debate once and for all.


	3. Carbon65

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Welp. They're pretty sure the beaker wasn't supposed to implode. Or explode. Or plode. Plosion seems like a bad precident.

"Mi! Mimimimimi!!! Miiii! Miiiii!!! MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!!!"

Onscreen, Beaker turned slightly read, shook violently, and his head slowly descended completely into his torso before a blast sounded, all through which Professor Bunsen Honeydew serenely explained their latest experiment.

Joly frowned, and turned to Combeferre.

"So, was that implosion or explosion?"

Combeferre bit his lip. "I see what you're getting at there: The head collapse spoke of implosion, but that would end in more of a piff of nullification than a blast of explosion. I'd say this is a new kind of plosion altogether."

"I see," Joly replied, fighting to keep his tone serious. "It seems ill-advised to follow this precedent. Let's avoid it when we start our own scientific comedy show."

"Yes," Combeferre agreed with a laugh. "That would definitely be for the best."


	4. estelraca

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marius is a booby, and that's just the way they like him. Anyone else would be weird.

"How's it going?" Cosette asked, eyes on the dressing screen as Courfeyrac slipped into an evening gown behind it. It was a deep blue number that accentuated their figure in a way that frankly made Cosette admirably jealous.

"Not bad," they replied. "I'll be ready for you to do me up in a moment, but first, could you grab my inserts? They should be on the dresser."

"Sure thing!" Cosette replied, hopping off the bed and heading over. As promised, the silicone breast forms were waiting on top of the dresser, though their packaging made her do a double-take.

"Coming?" Courfeyrac asked, half-stepping out with one hand supporting the garment in front.

"Yeah, sorry," Cosette replied, "just… why does this have Marius' name on it?"

At that, Courfeyrac laughed, a generous smile crossing their features. "Bring them here, and I'll tell you while I get 'em in place."

Cosette brought them over accordingly, and held Courfeyrac's dress as they fussed with the inserts in front of their full-body mirror, trying to make everything look natural with the dress' sweetheart neckline.

"You see," they explained, "these were the pair I was wearing when Marius first encountered me in my feminine form. He turned so red, I thought he would explode, and Bossuet is fairly convinced that he was going to try to introduce me to myself, because he thought we would get along, the poor muppet."

Cosette couldn't help but laugh at that. "That is far too easy to imagine."

"Isn't it?" Courfeyrac replied. "Anyway, I knew then and there that they had to be his. I've also got Enjolras for when I'm feeling particularly buxom—men tend to look at me with those on like Grantaire does our great and charming leader—and a smaller cup for Combeferre—they're the ones that fit best with blouses and sweaters."

"I think you look great in all of them," Cosette mused.

"Why thank you," Courfeyrac replied. "Perhaps my next pair should be Euphrasie."

"I'd be honoured. Do any of them know?"

Courfeyrac considered the question momentarily. "Combeferre does. I think I told him about my naming system one evening, and he said it was as usefully unconventional as he's come to expect from me. I think the other two would implode if I were to tell _them_ , though, if for entirely different reasons."

"You're probably right," Cosette agreed. "But really, that's just the way they are."

"Indeed," Courfeyrac replied. "And if I can keep my bosom buddies this close to my chest, well, I couldn't ask for anything better."


	5. everyonewasabird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Character(s) caught in a time loop.

_Let's do the time warp agaaaaaiiiiinnnnnnn!!!!_

The song came to an end, and everyone collapsed to the floor appropriately, as they had the past five times.

Joly closed his eyes, breathing heavily as he enjoyed as best he could the brief respite ahead.

"Do you think it'll be over soon?" he asked Combeferre, who was lying beside him.

"Probably not," Combeferre replied, giving him an apologetic look. "We've got to get this down by tomorrow night, and we're still not in sync for the better part of the second half. Not to mention that Bossuet's still messing up his directions constantly…."

Joly let out a whimper.

"I'll see if I can arrange for five at least," Combeferre offered, sitting up.

"Thanks," Joly replied. "You're a life-saver."

"I try…" Combeferre replied.

They really shouldn't have waited to polish the dance numbers for their version of the Rocky Horror Show until the last minute, but they'd get through it eventually. In the meantime, it meant looping the songs time after time until they were looking as great as they all wanted.


	6. ghostplantss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: fantasy au with fae please!

"What's this?" Bossuet asked, eyes trained on the new figurine on the table.

"A fairy," Joly explained.

"Well, I can see that much, based on the wings," Bossuet agreed, "but a gold fairy? Why?"

Joly smiled. "Musichetta was telling me that she's been reading several books about fairies lately. And while I was perusing the market, I saw this, and it made me think of her, so I thought I'd offer it as a present."

"Ah, I see," Bossuet replied. "She will enjoy the shape, I believe. It has very vivid eyes. And is it pure gold?"

"No," Joly replied. "Simply gold-plated. The weight is off to be pure gold, but it should be significantly stronger for a different interior."

"Fair," Bossuet replied. "Did it come with a name? Aura, perhaps, or Aurelie, building off its golden nature, of course."

"I was thinking down a different path," Joly admitted. "This lovely lady is Fantasy."

"Fantasy," Bossuet repeated. "I'm sure Musichetta shall be overjoyed to make your acquaintance."


	7. MuchAdoAboutAlmostEverything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Pillow talk

"Be need new billows," Joly exclaimed as he exited the bedroom.

Musichetta looked up from her needlepoint to raise an eyebrow. "We just got new pillows last month. I had to barter quite a bit to get that quality of down, too, you know."

"I know," Joly reassured her, "bud I seeb do be allergig."

"Are you sure?" Musichetta asked, her voice still calm as she took him in. "The last time you thought you were allergic to our bed, it turned out that our Eagle had gotten into some trouble with a cat colony, remember?"

"Yez, bud dis is preddy bad."

"And the time before that, it was just the common cold. And the time before that…."

He sniffed, and wiped his nose on his kerchief.

Musichetta sighed. "How about this? We'll give it a week or two. See if this clears up. And if not…."

Joly nodded. "I zuppode I cab waid dat long. Will you mage be zoub?"

Musichetta smiled. "I'd be glad to. You go get us some fresh water, okay?"

"I'll do dat."

He was on his way to get a bucket when Bossuet came through the bedroom door, feathers adorning his clothes, and a very flat looking sack in his hands.

"We're going to need some new pillows…." he said apologetically, and Musichetta sighed. It was going to be one of _those_ sorts of days, after all.


	8. oftangles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Bossuet helps Joly with a questionable experiment, bad luck and eccentricity cause it to go unplanned and the best part? Enjolras was somehow roped into their shenanigans.

Combeferre sighed as he surveyed the rather messy room in front of him.

"So, tell me what happened here exactly."

Joly and Bossuet shared a glance.

"Well, it was for science, you see."

"And techncially for religion, too."

"A fascinating question discussed by the brightest minds of church and state."

"Or at least of our cafés."

"And it's not as though we could have _told_ him we wanted to study him. That would have messed up the scientific process!"

"Plus, Grantaire would have given us away if we'd let word get out."

"Yes, that too."

Combeferre pinched the bridge of his nose and counted, under his breath, to five.

"So, in short, you gave Enjolras a sedative and tied him up so you could see whether or not he was an angel."

"That's the long and short of it, yes."

"You realize you could have just asked him."

Joly blinked, looked at Bossuet for a moment, then the still-sleeping Enjolras, and then back to Combeferre.

"You know, the thought never even crossed my mind."


	9. PilferingApples

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Another Tragic History

"Where be your gibes now? Your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady’s chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that."

"Excellent!" Bahorel exclaimed. "Your English is improving greatly. You'll be sounding like a native in no time."

"I certainly hope not," Jehan replied, placing down the skull. "It would seem a shame to give up one country for another, and to lose the essence of what it means to mix the two together. Let me keep a hint of France in my English, Italian and Hebrew. I think it will do me good."

"Very well," Bahorel agreed, taking a sip of his wine. "Still, that was an excellent Hamlet."

Jehan beamed. "I'm glad you appreciated it. Though admittedly, I do wish I knew the story of the man who's become my unwitting co-star. In some of my creatively darker moments, I've written him histories, each more tragic than the last. ...I do not think it was a happy life, or else he would not have ended in my possession. Don't you think?"

Bahorel shrugged. "Given the state of the catacombs, anything is possible. But I'd like to hear some of these stories. Tell me about your erstwhile Yorick, and what you believe his life was like."

"Well, for one, I call him Jean le Mort. And, I'd like to think… he was born outside the city limits, to a poor working family somewhere in the north…."

The rest of the night was full of sad stories passed back and forth as they created a beautifully tragic life for the skull, and many toasts drank in his honour. Perhaps they were no closer to discovering the truth of the matter, but both men agreed: Jean le Mort deserved the best in death that he couldn't get in life. And in his honour, they would live to the best and fullest that they could achieve.

(Of course, they'd already made similar vows on five other skulls, but that's a story for another time.)


	10. Rhyolite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac all can't cook.

"Never have I ever…" Combeferre considered his two friends, contemplated his options, and then finally decided upon, "had any sort of success at cooking games or minigames."

A moment of silence passed. Not one glass was lifted.

"None of us?" Courfeyrac asked. "How is that even possible?"

Enjolras frowned. "I don't play games in general, so I tend to be bad when it's insisted upon. Once… there was a game in which I was supposed to be cooking with Grantaire? Suffice to say, I couldn't figure out the controls, and he spent half the rest of the night weeping about how we would never be able to provide for our hypothetical children? ...it was an odd night."

"That sounds like him," Coufeyrac admitted. "And, okay, not being really into gaming is a fair enough excuse, but how about you, Combeferre? I'd think you great at that sort of thing."

"I'm really not," Combeferre replied with a shrug. "I've managed Wobbuffet Class in Sword and Shield, but never anything higher. I think I've managed one or two dishes out any time I've played overcooked? And I tend to forget about cooking minigames in RPGs—I poisoned some of my companions early on in my gaming career, and decided to save up enough for pub fare ever since. I'd think you would be better at them, though, Coufeyrac."

Courfeyrac shook his head. "Cooking Mama actually yelled at me once."

"Is that even possible?"

Coufeyrac looked Combeferre gravely in the eyes. "It must be. I've seen it happen."

At that, Combeferre sighed. "Well, I suppose we know what genre of games to avoid the next time we arrange a games night."

"Yeah," Courfeyrac agreed. "Let's try something relaxing like Dokapon Kingdom instead."

"I'm not sure if I can agree to a game about royalty…" Enjolras mused.

"Fair enough," Coufeyrac replied. "Dance Dance Revolution it is."

Enjolras smiled, and Combeferre nodded his agreement.

"That sounds like a much better time indeed."


End file.
